From the Beginnings to Dracula, Prince of Many Faces: His Life and His Times. Exhibitions Commemorating Matthias's Accession to the Throne". Society of the Hungarian Quarterly. Hungary in American History Textbooks". Retrieved 26 May A History of Hungary in Biographical Sketches page: In the war, Janos Hunyadi — , subsequently a Hungarian national hero, emerged to lead Hungary's political life.
History of the Ottoman Empire and modern Turkey, Volume 1. Hunyadi had suddenly risen as the great Hungarian national hero as a result of his victories over the Turks in The encyclopedia of military history from B. One of the most powerful personalities in Hungarian history, Hunyadi established a national unity and order which transcended privileges and special interests and succeeded in raising Hungary to the status of a great power.
The making of the Romanian national unitary state. Transylvania in the history of Romania: Rerum Germanicarum Scriptores aliquot insignes. The Catholic University of America press. Mehmed the Conqueror and His Time. Bain, Robert Nisbet In Sugar, Peter F. A History of Hungary. History and Myth in Romanian Consciousness. A History of Romania. The Center for Romanian Studies.
The Will to Survive: Munro; Chadwick, Nora K. The Growth of Literature, Volume 2. Matthias Corvinus in Hungarian. The Realm of St Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, — Honour, Castle and County: The Late Medieval Balkans: The University of Michigan Press. Theme and Image in Middle English Romance. A Concise History of Hungary. The History of Transylvania, Vol. Ethnographica et folkloristica Carpathica.
The Balkans since with a new Introduction by Traian Stoianovich. Hungary in Greatness and Decline: The Apogee of Burgundy. Florescu, Radu and Raymond T. Retrieved from " https: Views Read View source View history. Ah, if she failed to hear from him, her heart would break. Three days he tormented himself like this, on the third day he heard a rustle - a wolf he thought, but did not raise his arms for he knew only a brother could do you harm.
It was Bence though, the old faithful servant, sent by his mother. Bence fell on him crying and after a while spoke these words -. For three days I searched and combed this ocean of reeds never thinking to see you again. How are you, my dear boy? Didn't the beasts eat you up in these wilds? Here is my sack, take it and eat, here it is!
With that the faithful servant put his fist to his eyes, then wiped it on his coarse shirt. He knelt to the ground, put down his pouch, and one by one unpacked all that was inside. He spread a table, a make-do one of the empty pouch and cover. He set down the bread, the flask, and the roast, and graced it with two apples at last. Then he drew out a shining knife and offered it to the young master. Toldi sliced up the loaf of bread and ate it with the hearty meat. How Bence, the old faithful servant, enjoyed the sight - better than eating himself!
His mouth moved as if chewing, and now and then a tear trembled on a lash of his eye. It squeaked and spurted blood on the back of the old servant's hand. Bence toasted his master with the red wine, first pouring a swig and wetting his whistle. As he handed the flask to the young man with his right, he wiped off his mouth on the front of his shirt. The wine fired the old man's spirit. How his heart expanded! How his tongue loosened!
Stop, I ask you, stop this painful talk. In the past, whilst shelling corn by the fireplace, I would gladly listen until judgment day. How often you retold the stories of my father's knightly deeds, how many an evening until midnight. And then how long it was before I would fall asleep! I could not even close my eyes until dawn. Another pen is writing. My fortune has turned for the worse.
I have become a murderer, become a fugitive. Ah, who knows when I will clear my name again. But I believe God will not forsake an orphan, he the provident father.
My own blood may cleanse me of the crime my dear brother writ on my brow. Nor was I born a hired hand, sickleman, or hauler of hay for anyone's son.
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Now I only wait for twilight to come, the light to leave the fields; then I will put the land for a wallet on my back, and not even the wind will bring you a report of me. Bence grew sad at these words, sorry his young master planned to hide. He kept silent a long while, and then he burst into tears, making crosses with his finger- nails on his boots.
Then whatever happened will be forgotten, and you shall be the little king in all the province. Would you really abandon us, good servants all, who loved you like our own child? In seven markets of the land you won't find the likes of them. In the mill, who will lift the sacks in pairs? Who will wear a millstone on his arm for the miller boys to wonder at? Do not go, dear boy, do not go away and leave all Nagyfalu in misery.
Ah, don't desert the ancient Toldi house, do not push your dear mother into her grave. But as Bence brought up his mother at the end, it was like rolling a stone on his heart. For long he did not reply, he only stared into the murmuring reeds, and he stared and stared until at last a large, warm tear sat on the lash of his eye.
And as though he were wiping the sweat from his face, he brushed the unbidden guest with his palm. The tear slid slowly down his little finger to the ground, as he turned to Bence with these words - "Tell my mother, good Bence, her son's star is now eclipsed. She will not hear of him for long, his name they will bury as though he were dead. But he will not be dead, only like someone deep in hiding who is risen after certain time and people hear of his marvellous works. She will hear of me still, and when she does even babes will be stunned.
My mother's soul will leap, but she must not let her heart burst for joy. Then the faithful servant put the empty flask into the pouch. He carefully wiped the shining knife and folded up the canvas napkin. He threw the pouch over his shoulder, said goodby and started on his way. He wanted to leave, he wanted to stop. He often looked back and was swallowed at last among the trackless reeds. The sun sank beyond the marshy reeds and left a large red cloak on the sky.
But the night took strength, soon pulled it in, and wrapped the sky and earth in a cloth of black. And it studded the sky with coffin nails, a billion shining stars. At last, it rounded up the lovely moon and placed it at the head like a silver wreath. But tugged as though by a thong, he could not tear free from the thought of his mother. Again he looked back, and again. But why, with not a creature there to see? Still he looked, and after a little while turned homeward to take his last farewell. As he was returning, wending his way, the bottom of the bog sank at a certain place and he stumbled in a wolves' lair where two whelps started whining like little devils.
Too bad he did so, it was only to his harm. The reeds at his back suddenly rustle; the mother wolf leaps with a terrible howl, and the two wrestle. She rears up again and again on her hind feet and claws at Toldi's face - a clapper of teeth in a palate of blood, a gleam in the moonlight like sparks. But Toldi handles himself smartly and deals blow after blow with his fists. Blood gushes, from her mouth and nose, the large glazed eyes are terribly swollen. Her tongue bulges out, bloodied with her snapping teeth.
The foul saliva froths like a mad dog's, never has one seen a madder beast. Toldi, at last, begins to tire of it. He does not spare his legs and sends her flying with a long kick like a bull whirling horns. The beast arches over the bog. Hagging reeds and dropping with a thud, she groans.
But look, as though the devil burrowed into her, she rolls over and jumps to her feet. She yowls in sore rage and attacks again with her razor teeth. And this might go, but here's the rest of it. The mate comes howling and attacking from behind. You can't handle this! With a thousand lives, you would still be killed. When things go bad, he's got the grit. He'll make it, don't worry.
They won't eat him up. As she clawed and mauled him, he grabbed her throat with his two hands. Her claws gave, and the strength faded from the ham of her knee. Her eyes popped, full of bloody tears. Her green tongue hung out like a long colter. Her life did not escape, it was penned inside - and her maw was fixed in a wide open gape. Toldi grabbed her up, swung, and struck the male as he leaped.
He regained his feet in a rage. Toldi knocked him down again, and he snapped at his mate from where he lay. After this narrow call, Toldi rested a while on a clump. The whelps were dead, trampled beneath his feet. Their mother and her mate lay farther away. The round moon shone on them brightly and looked coldly down into the bog with its face distended like a golden skillet. His thoughts were on another wolf, an ill-natured brother who wanted to devour him.
Why be his hangman and not his brother? Why sharpen his fangs for his own good brother? The beast of the field protects his lair, attacks only when provoked. Or if his hunger drives him to kill, once appeased he harms no one. Though he devastates the herds, his own kind he spares. But his own brother, his own brother, who can say why he wants to kill? Can he quench his thirst only with blood or by driving his good brother from their property? What if the bloodthirsty brother got his comeuppance like the wolves?
Or is the breath of life more fixed in man? Hold on, Toldi, hold on, your intent is on murder. Do not fling a bloody prey to your revenge. Know the blood of a murdered brother clamors up to the heaven of heavens for vengeance. Know if you were to slay your brother, it would be your own eternal life you destroyed. God is in heaven and sees the truth. Leave him the work of justice. Now as if with a sudden thought, he rose and strode to the beasts. He flung them over his shoulders and started on a dangerous journey into the night.
Furiously he plunged through the wilderness of reeds and tunnelled a winding track as he went. The two wolves dangled at his heels, he never glanced back all the way to his mother's house. He threw, on arriving, his wolves on the wet grass. He tiptoes, as if stealing, to the outward door of his mother's room.
He listens quietly but hears only the ticking of a worm in the lintel.
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He is poised to knock, but catches himself - undaring he hesitates, hand on latch. Why in the world so afraid? He would take dragons on any other time. But now he is worried a rustle may startle his mother. If he scares her, she might fear open the door or window; she may scream, and they would have no chance to talk together. He lifts the wolves to his shoulder and walks around to the other side. Every living being, inside and out, was at rest, the dogs too asleep in the shed. And beneath the eaves, the sleeping guards are stretched in rows.
The whole world is asleep. Laying the wolves on the doorsill, he gathers up the lances leaning against the wall and pins the guards on the ground to hold them fastened when they awake. He enters the room. One squeeze of the hand, and though he had a hundred souls, he would fall silent and snore no more. Only that I came this will let you know. With that he took the two wolves in his arms and laid them by the old bedstead, saying - Hushaby, hushaby, lullaby, your brother is sleeping close by. And he himself entered the adjoining room where his mother sat in her mourning gown. She had laid her hands on the table and lowered her head.
Sleep lurked there in vain, for it could not break through her sorrow. At last it enticed her with a trick, borrowing the guise of an ague. It squirmed down the nape of her neck, ran down to her heels and up again. It made her stiff, it made her reel. This is what it took to put her asleep. Even so, it lasted only a bit, as a quiet knock aroused her from sleep. I bring no harm on the house. I walk at night like a ghost, but they would kill me, you know, if I came by day.
At these words, the widow no longer feared, and she embraced him closely. I never thought I would, I despaired, almost died. But my God, don't let me speak so loudly - your brother's next door. There too she would clasp him, her heart uneasy, lips locked in a long mute kiss. But he was terribly aroused, too, and could speak only after a good long while. He tried to compose himself, but what was the use! It seemed someone were piercing his nostrils with a pin, or grating horseradish - this is how it wrung his nose.
He wept on the face of his beloved parent, and like two brooks plunging from the mountains together, their tears commingled. He composed himself, and straightening up he mastered somehow his lamentable mood. And he spoke to his mother these words - "Leave kissing me now. Every hour is measured as though by contract. I come to bid you now farewell. I fear that in the end I might be a killer I'll not even say it.
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But this much I'll say, do not worry, lay your fears aside. I do not leave you to stay forever. The creator, I believe, will spare me till I return. I have heard of my father's brave deeds. Should I alone be a disgrace to my line? I shall go up to Buda as a champion warrior. There I will show something to the king, something that cannot shame my brother, only split his spleen with envy.
Why weep for one who hasn't died when the departed themselves do not remain dead? With this he knew he did something amiss. The dogs were enraged at what else but the wolves in the yard. Soon the servants will wake, and he made the rest of it short - "I have no more time. May God bless you. May God bless you in this world, and bless you in the next, I desire it from my heart. Who or whom, she only knew in her thoughts. She knew who searches every heart would know every one of her desires.
And when the child separated from her breast! The tongue of man cannot describe her anguish. Her soul, it was not ungrappled but ripped out at the house. The dogs, meanwhile, whined and howled, and with an ugly barking came to the door. The guards struggled to their feet somehow. No one else could! After him, the devil take it!
Like a nest of angered hornets, this is how to picture the house. They ran against one another on the big verandah, they dashed here and there on horseback and foot. Where are they fleeing? Left and right they rush like mad. Does the widow hear the clamor of the chase, the blast of horns, the yelling, the yelping?
She hears a shout - head him off! No, she does not know at all. When there is no one in the whole world to befriend you, do not lose heart for the Lord will appear at your side. See how he stood by Toldi as he shrouded the moon in a heavy cloud and there was such darkness nothing was visible. He had his scattered dogs recalled with a blast of the horn, and all his men gathered behind. Wet to the marrow, they straggled home at last when it was almost morning.
When dawn lifted the fog, he found himself on a bleak desert. Who was his companion on this desolate puszta? Three times it passed. He hastened, hastened onward though weary. But not really his mother, only her living image. Her bitter weeping would melt stones.
He was moved to compassion, and approaching he asked for whom and why she wept. And the widow for indeed she was replied, bitterly weeping -. Today I buried my two sons, who were killed on the Danube island by a foreign warrior. May God never save him from the fires of Hell. She knelt on the black mound moaning over the two crosses.
This went on a long time. At last they did, or so it seemed as she sobbed less strongly, moaning only a bit. Then he said to her - "I hear as I hear your plaint, but cannot make it out, I confess. Two of your sons were killed, but by whom and why?
If killed, is there no one to take blood for blood? She straightened up and overcame her cruel suffering. Thin of face and wan was she; only her two large eyes shone darkly. There is no one to pity me in my sorrow. My heart is bleak like the barren fields where the scythe has reaped the heads of corn. Toldi said - "Do not weep, your two brave sons will rise no more. But may God not be my God if I do not take vengeance on the warrior.
Now I ask you and see not in vain tell me the story in God's truth. I have a widow mother at home and feel a compassion for dear women like you. The sad woman took heart and told how it all happened - A foreign warrior blusters on an island in the Danube, possessed of frightfully good luck. He brags, whirls his weight about, and speaks with contempt of the Hungarian nation. Many fighters challenge him for life or death, and leave mourning widows and orphans behind. Yesterday her two knightly sons faced him, no pair could match them in half the land, and none in all the world.
And now they are resting in a single grave! The world is terrified of the cruel warrior, and no one is left to fight though he appears on the morrow with boast and blasphemy. He bade her goodby and went toward Pest, turning great deeds in his mind.
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He hurried from street to street as though he knew every step of the way; but he was only rambling round and round, bread in his pocket and house on his back. Dismounting, he immediately went up to the king and tuned his pitch. Bitter because blood is not water, and once a brother always a brother. He rubbed them raw red, and yet the king could not perceive a tear at all. The king said - "I never heard you had a brother. You did not bring him up to my court? Never showed him, never presented him? It is to my shame and sorrow, but he is not worthy of your good grace and he sighed heavily.
I tried to take his father's place and rear him, as is proper, to be a good knight. But he was a wastrel and stupid, with no spirit for good. But what's the use of it? He is lazy and forever in trouble. The good king replied - "Well, indeed, that is too bad, but still you were ill-advised to remain silent. You say he is very strong. Then it is strange he has no will to fight. But late is not lost. Bring him up, bring him, I ask you, and let me see him. He will learn, you will see, at my school.
If not, he may pass as a man in the ranks. But ah, it is too late. My brother is a lost soul, who has committed a murder! Ah, that I must open my lips for a lament like this, but some days ago he killed a well-loved retainer of mine The king looked, and suddenly his face clouded up.
They were still for a long time until the king at last broke the silence - "I have a way to grant him pardon. Bring him up as soon as you can to Buda. A Bohemian warrior is duelling on the Danube island, and many a brave knight of mine has fallen at his hand. He will either win or die. If he wins, he is a good lad worthy of pardon. If he loses, he will have paid for his crime. He sighed - "Ah, it comes too late for my brother, who is fled as a fugitive wandering in the world.
He skipped the house and said goodby to the gatepost. All trace is lost; the good God knows whether he's dead or alive. He showed the white of his teeth, and went on like this -. I know his worldly inheritance is my due - I could even seize it, take it as my right if this is what I wanted.
Who would vouch agains his attacking and killing me for his loss? This I do not want, it were badly advised. But I place it on the footstool at your throne - Let Your Majesty decide who is more worthy, as you deem, and grant him the royal boon. The king saw into his design and detected exactly the thought it concealed - a royal letter would help oust his brother were he ever pardoned and reclaimed his share.
But on the condition you kill the Bohemian warrior tomorrow and impale his head on the castle top.
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This is how you may win my royal seal. The bright day fogged up, the wooden statues danced. It would have taken little for him to faint. A chill ran through him, he shook with a cold sweat. His face was pale, with less blood than a mosquito might need for a single bite. At long last, he spoke, sadly replying to the king - "I say, I do not want my brother's wealth.
I renounce it not to burden my soul. He went home and fell down a-tearing his hair, raving and beating his brow. The servants watched and wondered whether he was fit to be tied. A bright moon is shining on the streets of Pest, chimneys gleaming high in the moonlight. The roof- tops huddle below shingling in shadow almost all the walls. You would think they live in attics, and that is why they raise the roofs so high, wall on wall and the top twice begun anew.
Then he hung his head remembering he was without money or food.
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He had lived four days on nothing but roadside mushrooms. Suddenly he heard a piercing cry, a scream. What is it, he wondered - a fire, a flood, a scaling of the castle walls? It was some other disaster though - a wild bull bolting down the narrow street, fleeing from the slaughterhouse he escaped somehow.
He bellowed and bawled as he smelled the blood that poured from his ears and ran down his breast. The butcher boys fled in panic, lasso in hand. Only from a haven did they think to call the dogs; then they sicked six strong mastiffs after the bull. These were not at all loath, snapping at the withers and ears as they leaped along.
When one bloodied his ear and it hurt, the bull bellowed terribly and shook the pendants off. The dogs sailed into the air and fell from the walls with a thud. The pieces of ear that stuck in the mouth they chewed in anguished rage. The butcher boys shouted - "catch him! He shied one into an adjoining yard, gutted another with his horn. The butchers well, what else could they do? But the bull, like a roaring storm, looked neither up nor down the road. He attacked whomever he found ahead or behind, and everyone fled an absolute death. The women scream in near despair. The men shout "head him off, head him off!
Toldi held his place, stood calmly, and waited for the bull in the middle of the street. Don't you see the mad bull running right at you? And then he whirled dirt with his horns as though he were aboard a threshing floor. He planted his feet, horns lowered for the fight. But no, course not! He called on the butchers to come and take him. They emerged at last, heavy ropes and lassoes in hand. They tied him to a heavy beam and bound horns to forelegs. The crowd scattered, and the butchers retired into a little shed to sleep. But the butchers would not let him rest.
They shoved out a hunk of liver and told him beat it in his mother's pain. Then he went down the street. Many places they whispered, "That's the one who seized it by the horn. And then the shutters slammed, or a key grated in the gate. Everything was silent, cold and cruel. How many things came to his mind! Then too the silent dead of night, then too the moon gleaming like this; and then too he was shut out by all the world, and no one gave him a place to sleep for the night. Leaving his mother's face, his thoughts flew to the old widow as she wept over the cross and wrung her hands for her two sons the wild warrior killed.
He thought of his vow and sighed - "Oh, how can I enter the lists tomorrow? Where are shield, armor and weapon? Would the warrior accept my challenge? He will laugh me off, mock me, scorn me. Or maybe they won't even let me in. Get out of here, old rags, they'll say when I show up. He walked slowly down the street, sighing. He stopped again and again staring at the ground as if searching for something at his feet. At last he looked up, his face now bright. He began to walk fast, almost run.
He went, went straight to the cemetery where a little while ago he met the weeping widow. It is easy to guess he was after the weapons and armor of the two young men. But this promise of luck forsook him too. He walked up and down the graves but found not one lost soul. Where could he search for the widow's house, thousands of people live in Budapest?
He sees that all he wants is in vain, his solemn vow in vain - both he and his oath a nothing, and fate a mischievous child who plays with him. And since the living would not take him in, he rested in the tanya of the dead. The mound was wet with the dew of a cool night, weeping instead of the kin. He looked up at the sky, the highway of the heavens, and thought sadly of his fugitive life. Hope was like a bird about to depart from his heart. Credit lost when awake, fickle hope enticed him now with sleep to sweeten his wretchedness.
Toldi was victorious in his dream over the warrior and won the king's pardon for his crime. Legends of the Realm of Janos: Tales of the Crown 17 Nov A Realm of Janos Novel 27 Apr A Realm of Janos Novel 15 Mar A Realm of Janos Novel 1 Jan Driven 31 Dec Provide feedback about this page. Unlimited One-Day Delivery and more.